


Numinous

by KamalasFanfiction



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman/Superman Apocalypse (Movie)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Healing, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sharing Clothes, metahuman reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamalasFanfiction/pseuds/KamalasFanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numinous<br/>adj.<br/>Describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted- the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired.<br/>-<br/>A collection of Bruce Wayne/Reader drabbles from korivnder that can be read separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> Request: ♔ : Bruce finding the reader wearing his clothes.

“There was nothing else to wear?” Bruce calls out from the door frame, his arms crossed, lips tilted towards the left in a smirk. 

You spin in his sleep shirt, the arms too wide from being so continuously stretched out by him. “I’m giving poor Alfred a break. God knows the man works enough- I’m just halving his laundry duty.” He rolls his eyes, working his fingers underneath the knot of his tie. 

“It’s a good look for you.” His eyes roam up your legs, strangely linger on where the shirt encompassed your stomach, then cut quickly up to your eyes. “You’re welcome to any of the clothes in my dresser.” He works on the buttons down his shirt, shrugging out of the shirt. He usually undressed in the Cave, but keeping one shirt white and without the grime of the floor would be a nice change of pace for ‘poor Alfred’.

“Oh, _I know_.” You point out your toe, like a ballerina, then spin in a circle, for the theatrics. “’You going out on patrol tonight or do you want me to keep some lights on?” 

Folding the shirt in his arms up several times, his smile wavers. “I’ll see if I can wrap things up early, tonight.” He starts to walk out the door, but you catch him by the hand. 

He’s already tilting his head down towards you, even before you peep out, “Good luck kiss?” You press your lips against his forehead, hands on his shoulders.


	2. Not-Quite Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Could you do one where reader has the ability to heal others (like holding their hand over a wound and it heals in like a minute or so depending on severity) and has to heal a grumpy batman after something in batman vs superman apocalypse.

“Bruce, you sure know how to keep a meta busy.” You remark, trailing your glowing finger tips over his cheek. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head away from you, but you follow his motion, determined to fade the scar that had developed. “You know, this would go a lot faster if you weren’t acting like you were four and I’m trying to spoonf-”

“Right now, I’m Batman.” He says with a tired tone of voice, tilting his head back into your palm. There’s a sigh on his lips, but it doesn’t quite come out. “Superman had a worse day- you should check up on him.” 

“And miss out on my favorite patient’s banter? No thanks.” You say, without any certain inflection, continuing your work as his black eye faded. Your fingers start to wander, down, over his chest, feeling deep-tissue bruising and a few blood clots. “Anything in particular you want me to ignore?” 

“Just don’t go below the belt, and we should be fine.” He adjusts his seating in the (ugly) leather chair you’d provided him in your little office in the Gotham, trying to get comfortable. 

You pause in unbuttoning his shirt, looking up through your lashes. “Well, not until you buy me dinner, at least.” He lets out a dry sound that you have to assume is a chuckle, just before you get to work on the pitch bruise on the center of his chest. The sound then becomes less chuckle and more dry throat. “Sorry, I probably should’ve warned you beforehand.”

 

 


	3. A Bird in the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Bruce is good with kids, has a hoard of them, but never realized until his s.o. gives birth that he's actually, um, kind of clueless with babies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reader uses gender-neutral pronouns but is dfab and able to give birth. bruce refers to them as ‘mom’ to the child, but ‘parent/spouse’ in his thoughts

There is a child in his arms that has his black hair and your nose and Bruce has never felt more overwhelmed. 

He’s not entirely sure if he disassociated when he was driving back home with you (and your child), but it hadn’t really sank in, even when he was actively watching you give birth. His old nursery remains intact, Alfred had cleaned it up and changed the lead-based paint on the crib, so he hadn’t even had to build a nursery. That might’ve been why it hadn’t fully sank in just yet. 

You pass him your child (his child), placing a pacifier in their seeking mouth. “I have to go freshen up.” You say, sweaty and glowing and he’s never seen you so beautiful. He opens his mouth to say so, but the baby grasps his chin, holding him still. 

He’s always been a father. He has five children- raised two of them from adolescence, one from childhood, and two from their teenage years. The baby grabs his nose when he holds them up higher, looks into your eyes, set in this small miracle, and swallows. This is his second biological child. 

This is also the only child he’ll be able to raise every step of the way. 

He’s not unprepared, per say. He’s read dozens of parenting novels over his years, has handled more than one baby. It’s the realization that this is _his_ baby, his soft-skinned, squirming child in his arms that throws him off his feet. He stumbles, just slightly, vaguely aware that it’s ridiculous of him, the Batman, to be taken off guard by a baby. 

It’s late at night. He’s usually on patrol by now. 

He can hear the water start upstairs, the beginning of your shower. The baby cranes their neck to follow the sound, as if sensing their parent. Bruce adjusts the cradle of his arms to support the baby’s head, staring down at it. “That’s my sp-” He stops, wondering why he’s being so formal to his own child. “That’s your mom, getting washed up. You sure pack a punch.” He thinks about pulling the pacifier out, giving them his finger to suck on, but waves the thought off. First he’d have to wash his hands. 

He’s also tired. He needs coffee. 

One-armed holding the baby, he gets out a mug. The baby is far too quiet. He sets the mug down and checks their pulse. Normal. He starts to find a thermometer, but pauses. This is his kid. He leans down and presses his lips to their forehead, feeling a normal temperature. Perhaps it just took after him in temperament. “This is a mug.” He says, explaining they as the baby reaches out to grasp it. “No- no, you can’t have it. I need it to drink.” 

The baby settles their hands on his chest, looking up. Bruce stops adjusting the coffee maker and looks down. The baby doesn’t _look_  hungry but, maybe. “Just as soon as your mother comes down, we’ll figure out everything you need.” His mind running a million miles, he wonders if the baby food they already bought would suffice. He hits the button and starts the machine. 

The baby’s still looking at him. 

“I guess I never introduced myself, huh?” He puts down the mug, letting it fill with coffee, and holds out his finger. They immediately grasp it, eyes wide and understanding. “I’m your dad. Bruce Wayne.” He shakes the finger just slightly, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”


End file.
